


Under Gathering Stormclouds

by AppleSoda



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drabble, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Non-Canonical Violence, Spoilers, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 07:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20305606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSoda/pseuds/AppleSoda
Summary: Claude and Cyril connect over caring for an elderly wyvern, an errand that both of them find meaning in. Years later, as Cyril prepares to make a difficult choice, he thinks back to just that moment.





	Under Gathering Stormclouds

Cyril wasn’t fond of most students, even though Lady Rhea cherished the children that passed through the halls of the monastery. To him, the building was just another place full of rooms to be cleaned or things to be tidied that didn’t matter much, except that it needed to look bright and polished for the woman that ran it.

One place proved to be the exception, and it was only during the quietest moments that he showed it. As he scrubbed the wooden stalls of the stables with a hard-bristled brush, Cyril hummed a song he’d been taught long ago, the notes clumsy but clear on his mind. Out of everything he had left behind in Almyra, it was the one secret thing he’d wanted to find once more. 

“You seem in good spirits.” The voice startled him— so much so that he nearly dropped the brush. But Cyril was nothing if not a consummate professional, and he glared at whichever Garreg Mach student wanted to bother him about something now.

Claude von Riegen of the Golden Deers grinned down at him. Slung over his shoulder was a canvas bag of supplies, and he looked like he had just finished a patrol or stable duties that students were assigned.

“Well, I’m always well when I’m helping Lady Rhea—”

“Really? I mean, work is work, but I actually saw a smile out of you. A real one, even. If I had to guess, you’ve taken a liking to the creatures living here.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m just—”

Before Cyril could finish, a large, brown shape darted across the stall and lunged for him. Alarmed, Claude reached for his bow.

“No, it’s alright!” Cyril held his hand up. And when the dust had settled, an older, mottled wyvern was next to him, chomping on a bit of leftover chicken that he had wrapped and stowed in his pockets.

“So I was right on the money on that, wasn’t I?” Though he was visibly shaken, Claude settled down, looking towards the stall with an amused expression. 

“Okay, Wyverns are one of the things I miss most about Almyra, really.” Cyril reached up and scratched the underside of the wyvern’s jaw, right where it connected to the scales of the neck. The creature let out a relaxed sound that almost resembled the purr of a gigantic, winged reptilian cat. “They’re here too, but….hmm, it’s not exactly the same, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I get it…” Claude leaned against the side of the stall, “They’re not exactly like the horses or pegasi here, right? But wyverns have got a mind of their own, and they’re smarter than you give them credit for.” He reached over and paused for a moment, before scratching just so at the side of the wyvern’s head. The beast leaned into him, and made a rough, low purring noise, not unlike that of a large cat.

“How’d you know that?” Rarely did anything distract Cyril from his work, particularly with bothersome students ran about the monastery prolonging it. His scrubbing brush slowed as it made another once-over of the stall doors. Claude’s wiry dark hair and meditation practices had given him pause, but the interest in wyverns all but confimred his supicions.

If Cyril searched the Golden Deer head student for an affirmation, the only thing he received in return was a mysterious smile. “Picked it up along the way. I’ve an interest in them myself. They’re not the easiest to raise, but if you try, they’ll stick with you to the end. And that’s all I can ask for, really.” As if chiming in with its own opinion, the Wyvern let out a crackling, low growl of assent.

Looking upon the elderly wyvern with Claude, Cyril let himself dream about being someone like Claude— ready to journey and to fight with the whole world ahead of him, with nothing standing in the way except the work he needed to do to keep going.

= = =

Above the clouds of Fodlan, Cyril guided his wyvern with the weary ease of someone that had been sent on missions time and again with it. The newness of flying had worn off long ago, when war was just something that loomed on the horizon and not something he desperately wished would end. Near the bluff was the target of his army, a leader of an aerial battalion of the Immortal Corps, wyvern riders unlike any that they had ever seen before. He readied his bow just as Shamir, Knight of Seiros, had taught him, flanked by the swiftest falcon knights that he had trained with.

“So, looks like it’s you and me today.” Claude’s voice was light as he emerged from the throng of soldiers. The wyvern that he rode was a bright white, and his bearing was regal, resembling the small portraits of the king were paraded through the market square when Cyril was a very young child.In his hand was a Relic bow that glowed with the eerie light of a relic. His voice was the same as he’d used in the stables all those years ago, but the way he held his weapon suggested that its arrows would land true.He sat atop the magnificent winged creature easily, as if he’d always meant to take his place in the skies, armed with a bow and a plan to try to outthink his opponent. Yet, despite all the times where Claude had a jokester’s personality, his voice was laced with doubt, pain and the choices that he’d no longer had on the table.

Claude had never treated him with contempt as Fodlan’s nobles did. This, Cyril remembered in all his years in serving the church.

“You don’t have to do this, Claude—” The axe in his hands wasn’t steady, and Cyril gripped the reins of his own wyvern tightly, holding onto what he could.

“In order to see Fodlan at peace, I have to. Please understand.”

“Then for Lady Rhea’s sake,” Cyril frowned, his eyes set dead ahead, “there’s nothing more for me to say.” 

“You take those flying lessons to heart?”was the last thing Claude asked. Cyril, who was earnest in keeping his word, simply kicked the wyvern into a dive, and began to keep an eye out for stray arrows.


End file.
